


Interludes: The Comorbid

by SaturnineArbiter



Series: The Stars Are But A Current [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, Heavy on worldbuilding, House of Suns - Fusion, Playing fast and loose with characterization, Psychological Torture (mentioned), Violence, multiple OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-05 11:12:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11012262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnineArbiter/pseuds/SaturnineArbiter
Summary: Antithesis- the final moments of Sn0wman, formerly known as the Black Queen.Tisiphone- the final battle between Neophyte Redglare and the Marquise Spinneret Mindfang.Antithesis has something to do with the plot; Tisiphone next to nothing. Largely just for worldbuilding.I dreamed I already loved you.I dreamed I already killed you.





	1. Antithesis

**Author's Note:**

> _Мне снится — я тебя уже любил._  
>  _Мне снится — я тебя уже убил._  
>  /…/
> 
>  _I dreamed I already loved you._  
>  _I dreamed I already killed you._  
>  /.../

**Antithesis**

She was dying; Sn0wman was dying; the world was dying.

Noir had left. Probably to find the white carapace who had somehow survived Sn0wman’s sister-queen’s death. He would not get far.

And if he did? Her sister-queen’s servant would take care of that. Sn0wman was at peace.

No, not quite. She had some things to address within her consciousness.

First was Scratch. She could hear his voice, soft and synthesized, scratching at the doors of her mind. He would control her no longer. Now there was no going back; her hemolymph spilled blue onto the cracked marble of her throne room.

Methodically, she began to shut him out of her mind like she had so many hundreds of times. Soon she would belong solely to herself again.

 _Wait_ , Scratch whispered, a hint of a smile in his voice.          

Sn0wman paused and waited. A few seconds and she grew impatient. She was a dying woman, and she had absolutely no intention of allowing Scratch to command her attention in her final moments.

 _Listen._ He breathed. She did.

It was the sound of the undercurrent, a song she had been privileged to hear a few times when one of the Curators had permitted her to speak with them. It was the song of this space, but disturbed and strange to her ears. It took her a moment to realize why; it was not her present, nor anyone’s except perhaps Scratch’s.

She listened curiously. Scratch would not have shown this to her unless he felt there was reason for it.

The distortions were a curious mix of chaotic and sensible. It was eons into the future, in a time when another species had risen to power. A pang of sadness; the lovely harmony that had been the multifarious hives of carapaces, black and white, was gone. She had expected it, but it was sad nonetheless.

 _Don’t you hear it?_ He asked.

She _could._ There was a soft presence in the song, a carapace’s singing, rhythmic and lonely. A queen’s song; a queen without children. Sn0wman mourned for them.

It was tangled, though, like sticky sap in sewing thread. Tangled enough that it took Sn0wman a long time to parse out the Pattern of it.

 _You hear it._ Scratch’s voice was pleasant and businesslike, but she could feel his gloating smile. He would bide his time until this queen was born, Sn0wman knew. He would have a hand in her life and her development until her death, a voice in her ear and a presence in her heart, because the queen was Sn0wman herself and their bargain would remain so long as Sn0wman had Breath in her body.

More painful yet was the queen’s own voice, thready and pained, sick from Scratch’s ministrations and delicate, precise blows. Sn0wman reached for the child, her daughter—no—

Her son. The queen was a boy, woman born, from a different species, endowed with her Breath by some occult means. The point in time which Scratch had chosen presented him in a state of catatonia. Very deliberately, he had chosen a taunt; _so long as he lives, you shall never be free._

The boy slept fitfully on a hospital bed, eyelashes fluttering with nightmares, Sn0wman’s Breath bubbling just beneath the surface. A son. Sn0wman had never thought to have a child, even after her king had been named. She had a son, and despite how he had been made and his nature, she felt herself grow nauseous with fury at Scratch.

 _You knew._ She hissed. He had made this bargain with her in full knowledge that it would grant him power thousands of years into the future, knowing that one day he would humiliate and subjugate her even by proxy.

 _I did._ Scratch acknowledged. _His name is Jake._

Distractedly, she found that she was something like minutes from death. Scratch bowed.

 _I’ll take my leave now._ He said politely.

Sn0wman watched her son. Curiously, she felt no maternal protective instinct; or perhaps not so odd. She had not raised him from an egg. He was not her natural-born brood. Still, he was her blood, and the burden he was forced to carry was one that only she should have borne. Scratch’s claws should extend into no more minds than her own.

Slowly, she disturbed the undercurrent with probing fingers. She did not know whether or not he would hear her and respond, but she felt obligated to try. She clawed clumsily until she found a point of access, random within the timeline. She did not know if anything she could tell him could help or if it would come in time.

 _Child,_ she began.

Sn0wman continued her whispers into her son’s mind, scraping it raw, until her mind grew too fuzzy for her to continue.

_Stand tall. May your Pattern endure._


	2. Tisiphone

**Tisiphone**

 

Praxidik descended like a goddess, red tails of her skirt-coat pouring down the backs of her legs. The winds of Telphousion lapped at her sides and made her shiver.

“It’s cold,” Lachesis complained. “Why are we here?”

Snow crunched under Praxidik’s boots; she did not reply. Lachesis knew full well why they were there. She was just frustrated.

Ijapetus hefted his _penée_ , glancing around behind her. “ _Iustatia_ Redglare, I don’t think anyone’s been here for a long while.”

“Neophyte Ijapetus, mind your steps.” Lachesis chastised him. “You trample the footprints you seek.”

“I—”

Praxidik interrupted Ijapetus before he could retaliate. “Ijapetus, seek a trail beyond here. Lachesis, hold your tongue until you have earned an epithet of your profession.”

“I don’t see how the epithet means anything.” Ijapetus snapped. “It’s just pasted on after ‘neophyte’. We’re the same rank, _Iustatia._ ”

Praxidik turned her head to raise an eyebrow. “Ijapetus _Ioké_ , do you not understand why you bear that name? Or why I bore _Póine?_ The epithet distinguishes. To your enemies, your name alone means nothing. To your enemies, _Ioké_ is something to fear. You have earned the honor of being something worthy of apprehension.”

“ _Ioké_.” Ijapetus sighed. “It does not mesh well with my third-molt name.”

Praxidik snorted. “And _Póine_ describes mine? Accordingly, Lachesis will be _Sophrósyné_.”

Ijapetus let out a short bark of laughter and elbowed Lachesis hard in the side. She stumbled away, clapping a hand over her ribs. Before she could retaliate, though, Ijapetus was sprinting over the snow, boots crunching through a thick layer of ice. His _penée_ bounced on his hip, wicked spike narrowly missing the meat of his calf with every step he took.

Lachesis glowered at Praxidik, who turned away with a sigh. They were such children.

Telphousion was not a particularly exciting planet. Praxidik both doubted and believed that the Marquise was here. She sought excitement, which seemed to say that she would avoid this planet; but equally, she’d want to avoid her pursuers, who’d look for her in centers of excitement.

Small, low hills rolled past. No visible plant life. No obvious hiding places.

Abruptly, Ijapetus’ trail ended. His penée sat on the side of the disturbance in the ice, seemingly dropped without a care. Lachesis yelped.

Narrowing her eyes, Praxidik drew the blade from her staff, taking a ready stance.

The snow in front of them erupted, Ijapetus coming up sputtering flakes out of his mouth. The cowl of his tunic was full of snow, shedding it with each movement. “A tunnel.” He coughed. “It goes to a door, but I could not break it without my penée. Or without a club. Praxidik, I think the hideout is under the hill a few spans from here.”

“Excellent.” Praxidik’s eyes narrowed. “Lachesis, Ijapetus, see if you can find any other entrances. I will seek as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ijapetus saluted and clambered to his feet. Lachesis slid her hand down the pommel of her sword with a grimace of disdain. They could all smell the fight approaching. Praxidik could feel her blood rushing headily through her body with anticipation. She turned to the right and took a few steps off the path.

The icy earth beneath her heaved and gave way and she tumbled down a steep slope headlong, fingers scraping in the dirt as she fell. She saw chisel-marks on the ice around her as it fell. _A trap._

“Iustatia!”

For a moment, Praxidik was too dazed to do much more than lay cold and still on the ground. Then Ijapetus’ voice broke through her concentration and she lunged to her feet just in time to catch the club of a young cerulean boy with wide eyes and a self-righteous stance.

“Ioké, Mateil, fight! Don’t worry about me!”

Ijapetus hardly waited a moment before acting, whipping his penée off his hip and stabbing it into the calf of a cobalt on the lip of the crater. Lijuna drew her atlatl and spun on the ball of her foot so that their backs met, loosing a bolt into the air at the head of a jade girl not twenty meters away.

Praxidik permitted a moment of pride before she ripped the cerulean’s club from his hands and kicked him in the chest, feeling a few ribs crack under her boot, and strode past where he wheezed on the ground. A disturbance in her psychological state made her hesitate mid-step, but no more than a hesitation.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” Praxidik called into the air. Idly, she twirled the boy’s club in her hand. It was studded cruelly with shards of the never-melt that Mindfang was so fond of. “Marquise.”

There was no reply, but Praxidik had hardly expected one. Her neophytes fought breathlessly. Ijapetus finally gained the momentum to leap from the crater and plunge into the body of the charge with penée gleaming green-and-blue in the white sun. Lijuna had finally begun to use her sword, expression twisted in distaste. Praxidik then disregarded them. Her quarry was near.

A twanging through the air drew her attention rapidly enough for her to sidestep the whipping tip of a foil as it lashed down and use the nevermelt on the club to deflect the heavy angled blade.

_Mindfang._

Gleefully, Praxidik swung the club, twisting it around the sevensword to disrupt Mindfang’s grip so that she could punch Mindfang very solidly in the jaw. Her hand hurt like the blazes, but Mindfang reeled back with a blueing bruise on her cheek and her hair falling into her face.

“You should tame that hair,” Praxidik chastised. “It hinders you, Marquise.”

“You should try to actually get strong enough to hurt me,” she sniped back, “Although that’s impossible, Neophyte.”

“Bitch.”

“Harlot.”

Praxidik screamed her delight to the world as she hurled herself at Mindfang, swinging at the troll’s knees with the vicious prejudice. Mindfang kicked at it and managed to snag the spikes on the soles of her shoes to rip it out of Praxidik’s hands. Grinning, Praxidik drew her own sword. She watched Mindfang’s eye follow it, full of new caution.

She was right to be afraid. Forged in dragonfire, it was neither as flexible as Mindfang’s foil nor as strong as the sevensword, but sharper than either and Praxidik had the advantage of experience.

“You’re sixty sweeps too late to catch me flat-footed.” Praxidik told her sweetly. _Habin._

Mindfang parried and tried attacking with both blades at once. _Oh, don’t be ridiculous,_ Praxidik thought, batting Mindfang’s foil hard enough that it slipped from her grasp. _I know that you’re a better swordswoman than that. Show me what you’re made of, Marquise. I’ll show you that even then, it doesn’t matter._

Fighting with both hands on the sevensword, Mindfang’s strength and speed increased to match Praxidik’s, a fact which surprised her. Praxidik grinned.

“Did you expect me to be weaker?” She asked. “For a mid-range teal? I’m a dragon, little spider.”

“Pity, that.” Mindfang hissed. “I do so hate harming antiques.”

Praxidik laughed aloud and drew her sword back over her head, catching in the crook of the sevensword. “I’ve never understood the shape of your blade, Marquise. Do enlighten me on why it’s made so easy to take advantage of.”

Mindfang grinned at her, fangs slipping over her tinted lips to shine startlingly yellow against them. “Oh, I’ll show you why.”

Praxidik threw her weight into her strike with a honeyed smile, favoring fighting over mockery for the moment.

With both of them so evenly matched, it was easy to lose herself in the fight. The Marquise was as strong as she was malevolent, as fast as she was capricious; it would bring Praxidik great pleasure to bring her down. The sevensword’s long handle gave her such leverage and control, its weight gave her so much force—Praxidik began to find herself hard-pressed to match up.

“You can’t win.” Mindfang said. “There are three of you to thirty of us—cerulean, cobalt, and jade. We can destroy you.”

And even if numbers alone wouldn’t take them down, Praxidik realized, Mindfang was wearing her down. As much as she hated to admit it, Mindfang was stronger than she. Baring her teeth, Praxidik threw the full force of her strength into a downwards stroke. Mindfang blocked it with the crook of her sevensword, breaking the blade in half. Its tip clattered to the ground.

“Was that it?” Mindfang asked. “Really? All that running and subterfuge, for just this?”

Praxidik tackled her and clawed at her perforated eye through which she saw the Light. The cornea popped under her claws, and Mindfang let out a startled cry. Now straddling her, one hand holding her head down, Praxidik grinned.

“Yes. For this.” She pinned Mindfang’s sword arm with her knee and began to hack at it with her broken sword, cerulean blood spilling across the snow until only the bone remained. Praxidik splintered it with the heel of her boot.

As she reared back to deliver a killing blow, something caught her arm and her chest and back burned. She could feel her heartbeat, irregular and painful, with increasing sensitivity. Praxidik had entirely forgotten about Mindfang’s goons.

_“Iustatia!”_ Ijapetus screamed from somewhere to her left as her killer dragged her off of Mindfang’s body. Holding the stump of her shoulder, Mindfang sat up and struggled so that she stood above Praxidik. Blood poured from her eye, the Vision Eightfold no longer something she could rely upon.

“Even if I don’t get you,” Praxidik promised her, “Someone will. You won’t last forever.”

“Neither will you. In fact, your life ends right now.” Mindfang picked up the sevensword in her non-dominant hand. “Do you know why it’s shaped like this?”

Praxidik closed her eyes when Mindfang hooked the blade under her neck and lifted slightly, cutting Praxidik’s hair and thin little gashes into her skin. “I believe I can guess.”

“Then I won’t have to tell you.” Mindfang said, lips twisting into a cruel grin. Taking a deep breath, Praxidik gritted her teeth.

Mercifully, Mindfang moved quickly enough that Praxidik was not aware of it until she was dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _/…/_
> 
> _Девчонка ты. Останови свой шар._   
>  _Я убивать устал. Я слишком стар._
> 
> _Но, шар земной ножонками гоня,_   
>  _ты падаешь с него: "Люби меня"._   
>  _И лишь внутри — таких похожих! — глаз:_   
>  _"Не убивай меня на этот раз."_
> 
> /.../  
>  _Lord, you’re young. Stop your globe._  
>  _I’m tired of killing. I’m not a damn thing but old._
> 
> _You move the earth beneath your little feet,_  
>  _You fall, “Love me.”_  
>  _It’s only in those eyes—so similar, you say_  
>  _“This time don’t kill me.”_  
>                                      "I dreamed I already" by Yevgeny Yevtushenko  
>                                     Translated by James Dickey & Anthony Kahn


End file.
